


Everywhere, Everything

by aw_writing_no



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, But she's still a major character in this, F/M, Natasha still died in Endgame, Other, She's ghost-adjacent I suppose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29953515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aw_writing_no/pseuds/aw_writing_no
Summary: And Clint tries to run, tries to scream, tries to save them. But he’s anchored to this spot, to the warm body pressed against him. He turns to Natasha.She is breathtaking here. The light reflects off her red hair, setting it ablaze, molten sunlight that cascades around her shoulders. Her skin glows in the soft orange twilight. She reaches out to stroke his cheek.“Let me go,” he begs. Let me save him like I couldn’t save you.-OR-After the battle, after they win, Clint still sees Natasha everywhere. He dreams of her at night; she is his constant companion during the day. It's as if her Death and his Life are now bound together.In which Clint learns the true cost of the Soul Stone.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Everywhere, Everything

Clint dreams in shades of orange. 

  


Laura braids Lila’s hair with poppies, blossoms that tumble down her back, wreath her face in flames. “Red, like Auntie Nat,” Laura says. Clint watches as his daughter smiles beneath her funeral crown and begins to sing quietly in Russian.

  


A few feet away, Cooper sits with Nathaniel in his lap, moving his brother’s tiny fingers to the tune of the Itsy Bitsy Spider. Nathaniel pulls his hands away and stands on unsteady feet. He takes a few steps before bending down again, an arrow grasped in his chubby fist. He giggles when the arrow  _ beeps _ and the head begins to blink red. 

  


And Clint tries to run, tries to scream, tries to  _ save them _ . But he’s anchored to this spot, to the warm body pressed against him. He turns to Natasha. 

  


She is breathtaking here. The light reflects off her red hair, setting it ablaze, molten sunlight that cascades around her shoulders. Her skin glows in the soft orange twilight. She reaches out to stroke his cheek. 

  


“Let me go,” he begs.  _ Let me save him like I couldn’t save you _ . 

  


The hand on his cheek moves to brush a lock of hair off his forehead. “I can’t,” she replies. There are unshed tears in her eyes, and she offers him a small, sad smile. He can’t tear his gaze away from her face as she cards her fingers through his hair. She begins to hum, the same forlorn melody as Lila. 

  


Clint’s eyes never leave hers. Not when the beeping grows louder, more frantic. Not when her singing causes the tears to finally spill down her cheeks. 

  


Not when his family is once again reduced to ash.

  


* * *

  


Clint leaned against the patio railing, hands curled around a mug of coffee that was rapidly cooling in the morning air. Inside the house, Laura listened to the radio as she gathered the dishes from breakfast. Clint shut his eyes, trying to forget the look on Lila’s face when he had refused to eat the pancakes she had made specifically for him. 

  


Pancakes were always Clint’s favorite. They were five years ago, or last week, depending on whether you asked Clint or Lila. But this morning he looked at the stack Laura put in front of him and ran out the door with bile clawing up his throat. 

  


The last time Clint had pancakes, Natasha was trying her damndest to keep Lila from burning the batter while simultaneously arranging Nate’s fruit into a lopsided smiley face. 

  


Clint leaned against the patio railing, hands curled around his now cold cup of coffee, and forced himself to open his eyes. Lila and Cooper were playing ‘monkey in the middle,’ gently tossing a soccer ball over Nathaniel’s head as he ran between them. Cooper pretended to drop the ball, and Nate’s laughter flooded the yard as he grabbed it triumphantly.

  


In the early morning sun, Nathaniel’s brown hair gleamed red.

  


It hurt to look at him.

  


The wood of the railing creaked as Natasha jumped to perch next to him. The grin that spread across her face was one Clint had only ever seen in their quietest moments.

  


“They’re happy,” she said, holding up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Her smile widened the slightest bit as Nate clutched the ball to his chest and ran screaming from Lila. “Look how happy they are, Clint.”

  


Clint grunted.

  


Natasha reached out to tangle her fingers in his hair. “Clint?”

  


“It’s like it never happened for them.”

  


“Isn’t that good?”

  


“Yes. No.” Clint sighed. “For them the only thing that changed is me. They woke up one morning to find their dad broken. Hollow.” Clint glanced at the ink swirling over the skin of his left arm. “I don’t fit anymore, Nat.” 

  


“You will.” Her hand drifted from his hair to rub the back of his neck. “Drink your coffee.” 

  


He brought the cup to his lips automatically. He winced as he swallowed half the tepid coffee in one long gulp. “It’s so much better warm.”

  


A hand pressed against the small of his back. “Want me to get you another cup, babe?”

  


Clint jumped, whirling to face the new voice. The remainder of his coffee sloshed out of the mug and down Laura’s blouse.

  


“Shit!”

  


“I’m sorry,” Clint gasped. “I’m so sorry, Laura, you surprised me.”

  


Her eyebrows drew together in a slight frown. “You were just telling me about your cold coffee.”

  


“No,” Clint replied. “No I was telling...” He gestured behind him with the mug. 

  


“Babe? Are you ok?” Laura reached out to cup his cheek.

  


“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, jerking away from her touch. She dropped her hand, eyes wide and hurt. He turned to ask Nat to back him up, to tell Laura that he was fine, it would all just take time.

  


He was alone on the porch. 

  


“Clint.” Laura’s tone was soft and low. It was the same voice she used when she coaxed that stray cat out from under the porch where it had been living for weeks. 

  


Whatever she was going to say next was cut off by a loud wailing from across the yard. Clint turned to track the source, but Laura was already running. Lila and Cooper hovered nervously over Nathaniel, who was sitting in the dirt, sobbing. He must have fallen, bitten his lip; blood stained his teeth.

  


Laura cradled Nate against her chest, cooing softly into his hair. She carried him back towards the house, towards Clint who was still frozen on the stairs. Nate spotted Clint and immediately reached out for him. “Daddy!” 

  


Clint took him from Laura gently, wrapping his arms around Nate’s small frame. Something was wrong; Nate’s weight felt alien against him. The serpent on Clint’s forearm stretched its jaw, ready to swallow his son whole. The fangs were perfectly positioned to sink into Nathaniel, to inject him with the venom that had twisted Clint into Ronin.

  


He opened his mouth --  _ Nate, are you okay _ ? But the sharp edges of the N caught in Clint’s throat, lodging behind his larynx, and the rest of the name curdled behind his lips.

  


He shoved Nate back into Laura’s arms and stumbled into the house, retching. He barely made it to the bathroom before heaving up cold coffee. 

  


Cool hands rubbed his back. “He’s okay,” Natasha said. “ _ You’re  _ okay.”

  


Clint ignored her and went to rinse his mouth.

  


When he went back downstairs, Laura had settled Nate on the couch between his siblings. She cocked her head, motioning for Clint to join her in the kitchen. 

  


He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Is the little one alright?”

  


“Yes,  _ Nathaniel  _ is fine.” Clint flinched at the name. “You aren’t, though.”

  


“I just need to lay down.” 

  


Laura didn’t say anything as he retreated back upstairs. Clint changed into sweatpants, then climbed back into bed. Natasha pulled his head into her lap, and sang softly until he drifted off to sleep.

  


* * *

  


They’ve carried each other a thousand times. 

  


Clint knows exactly how Natasha’s arm settles across his shoulders as they limp away from an op gone sideways. He knows the feel of her body under his arm as he leans into her, knows exactly how much of his weight he can put on her before they both stumble, cursing and panting, into the dirt. He knows the way his heart will shudder against his sternum when he cradles her bleeding against his chest, yelling for Coulson to bring them a goddamn medic.

  


But somehow he is taken by surprise by the strain in his wrist, by the way his bicep trembles as he grasps Natasha’s forearm. Beneath them, Vormir yawns, gaping and hungry. Demanding.

  


“I’ve got red in my ledger,” she says. Her voice echoes through the chasm, her words weighing her down. “Let me wipe it out.” Clint’s vision blurs blue, and her eyes flash an answering orange. Then she’s falling.

  


The  _ crack _ of her skull against the canyon floor vibrates through Clint. He’s on the ground now, kneeling next to her, desperately cleaning the blood from her face. Instead of pooling beneath her, the flood of red claws up his arms, clings to  _ his _ skin. Clint holds his hands up to the light, watches in horror as her blood rolls down his fingers to coalesce into a jewel in the palm of his hand.

  


Clint reaches out to swipe his thumb across Natasha’s already cool lips, chasing away the ghost of her last all-knowing smile. Her skin is unblemished now, all the red wiped clean.

  


The Soul Stone pulsates, glows, the orange light turning the blood coating his skin an inky black. 

  


Clint’s ledger is dripping.


End file.
